Usually, when my sister drops by to visit, there's food involved.
And we usually make a beeline to our favourite restaurants, reflecting our very diverse taste in food - Gurkhas (Nepalese), Mekong (Vietnamese), Lambs (Greek), Minang Indonesian Nasi Padang (Indonesian, duh), Dessert House (Hong Kong) - plenty more, but I think I'll stop there.

That day, we visited the super popular, long time restaurant Dessert House.
That's the iconic restauant where: 1. Mo ate pork (my fault). 2. My sister and I never failed to visit during our nights out back in our pre-2003 student days - my RMIT foundation days.

I love, love, love that place.
When I was back in Singapore and Malaysia I would always daydream about ordering their curry chicken on rice, iced milk tea and coffee, mixed two kinds of soup, or their mix-and-match noodle soup.
When I was studying Multimedia in 2006 - 2007, I'd visit that place occasionally with my friend Chris - it was there she introduced me to the Spicy chicken on rice.

Its actually 'chicken ribs' - whatever that means.
I didn't know they even had such a thing. I mean, pork ribs, prime ribs - sure. They're huge animals, but chicken ribs?
For a period of time, I imagined genetically altered mutant chickens hanging off life support systems, grown in test tubes.

Anyway, its basically battered chicken ribs sitr fried with a very apt combo of spices, diced onions and capsicums in I guess, a pungent chilli oil.
When eaten with sambal chilli, this dish absolutely rocks.

Then, there's the Mixed two kinds of soup. Something like that. Yes, the menus of Chinese restaurants and cafes can be kinda weird because they are literal translations of Chinese words. Eve then, obviously with rudimentary vocabulary and grammar skills (who cares, its the food that matters in a restaurant/cafe!) the translation would be kinda wonky too.
Basically its mock shark's fin soup with 'fish meat' - little blobs of starch, some type of fish and spices.
Eaten with red vinegar, its absolutely divine.


We also ordered a little snack.
Fried rice rolls. At least, I think it was called fried rice rolls.
I ordered and shared it with a friend a long time ago and expected it to be very soggy like Singapore's Chee Cheong Fan.

Surprisingly, it had a very crispy and well-seasoned exterior, followed by a very pleasantly soft and slightly springy inside. Mmm.




:: Urban Decay

I'm not trying to be an artsy-fartsy photographer here but I was inspired by my sister's inquisitiveness whenever she drops by to visit - after living here for a while its hard to have the unbridled curiosity of someone who comes and goes and uses their short time to view, record and archive their surroundings within the short span of time they're anywhere.

I realised I pretty much take my surroundings for granted; the rich urban culture (or some would describe as 'decay' but its been coined into a sort of term for a unique sub-culture), the graffiti, the random vandalism you never see in Singapore except for the very controlled spots in Orchard Road (Singapore's popular shopping strip) that it meant to look 'cool' and reflect some urban "culture" in Singapore, albeit very manufactured by the Singapore government.
Sometimes it makes me wonder - is it the right way? Build an army of unthinking, shallow individuals - some of whom develop a sense of self and get lost, confused and resentful being written off as a freak accident - to be able to efficiently process orders and information but not to lead and think independently.
Many of my friends have developed such a sense of self, I'm proud to say, so different and distinct from the surrounding mass of people who register two things - compute or do not compute.
Then there are the rest of the people I know who have absorbed seamlessly as intended into the system, living out their lives just hoping to get by and happy to contend with small, shallow ambitions of 'earn money can already' and 'I want to buy car and buy HDB'.
I don't condemn them, I certainly don't mock them. I respect them of course, because they are my friends. But I can't help but feel a little melancholy.
I understand that from a small country's point of view if each and everyone had such strong opinions . At least, perhaps that's the official reason we're fed.

Anyway, in our sterile country we've been bred and educated with the ideology that the Government knows best.
I resent that. I mean, of course, the Government is meant to lead and serve its people and we should respect that it has its shares of challenges and problems, but not to the point of 'Big Brother' style governing.
When the people have a non-transparent government (having mentioned this the question thus pops into my mind - Seriously though, which Government in the world is transparent, really.) which decides for it and allows no voice of opposition, there's a problem.
Especially when it leads to a dynastic political atmosphere.

ANYWAY.


Speaking of a rich street art culture, here's some highlights of the walk after the meal.

We decided to walk along Tattersall's Lane where the popular Shanghai Dumpling Restaurant is located.
In fact we did drop by the last time she visited and went bonkers ordering way too much food - I think we ordered enough for 4 people.
For two people, ordering more than enough food usually nets you a bill around $14 - $16. We ended up paying almost $40 for 5 "dishes" - one dish by the way can consist of 8 - 20 large dumplings.

Tattersall's Lane also is home to a popular outdoor sheltered beer garden.


They were having an open air bbq when we arrived.
People were just hanging out having casual drinks and chatting. The entire atmosphere was very 'outdoorsy' and casual.




Just the thing I dislike. It felt like one of those open air hawker centres in Malaysia - while it isn't actually that bad (except the fact that many, many of these places back in MY wash their dishes in dirty water sloshing around in large plastic containers behind by the garbage) if you take into account the searing, humid heat, its like baking on slow heat in a convection oven while having your last meal.

Lucky for me it was smack in the middle of winter and very nice and cold.


If there's one thing you probably have noticed by now from the picture - you'd notice the graffiti.
Its not just any graffiti - the place was a frickin' art gallery.









The entire expense of wall was spray painted with beautiful characters in striking colours and varying thick, stylised lines.
Beautiful.



Right behind the beer garden, was a little laneway leading to the left side, followed by a tiny little junction, called Stevenson Lane.



That's where the magic continues.
Its such an unassuming little area you'd never think twice about walking past without even flinching or noticing some really vivid works of art adorning every surface you can imagine.




By unassuming, I really mean unassuming. Its not really there until you really look and take notice, because of the very location and general usage of the place.



But its everywhere if you look. Little things.




I looked up but there was just the sky. I'm not sure if it meant the sky or perhaps there was another thing or object I might have missed. Perhaps that was the point.

Then those rotting, posters of old still plastered on the wall.
It makes for some interesting photo subjects, such innocuous things. It also gives you some insight to the past versus the present.

This old poster is far more placid, gentle and has the whole 'help-your-fellow-passengers' overtone to it.
Today's whole money grubbing 'fare evasion karma' garbage espoused by the recently deposed Connex, suggesting you dob fare evaders in and that you get bad karma - you know, the whole "bad staff happen to bad man" (said in bad Cantonese accent) crap.

So different from the nice, polite, give the ticket to the next person thing they had going on.
That was a different Melbourne then. When corporate giants weren't greedy shitbag whores and helping your fellow man out wasn't a line used by broke druggies who approach you in the Western suburbs today.
Fares were much cheaper too.

When we first came a city saver ticket (for use within the city limits, one ticket one trip) was $2.30. Then it became $2.40. Then $2.50. Then $2.70. Then $2.80. Now $2.90. That's almost the price of a 2 hour ticket when we first arrived - $3.20.

All that money gone for a laughable tram and rail system that's always late, forever stuck in an electricity outage (just imagine being stuck in a crowded tram smashed like sardines on a sweltering 30 degree summer day without air conditioning or air ventilation) and always too full.
Maybe I should add Singapore's transport system in one of my 'favourites' list too.



Behind this are the epics.
Tell me, do you think some guy walked by, had a look at a dreary wall and decided, "Hm, I could probably stick a canvas there and draw some awesome shit on it."?



Don't even get me started on this one.
He didn't even draw this on a canvas, but directly on the surface.



Little laneways also make for some interesting visuals too.
Buildings look nice in the front, but you don't usually see the gritty behinds.



Walking out of Tattersall's Lane, there's more.



Looks like someone did a Frida Kahlo on her.



Urban art aside.
We walked towards QV and into one of the clothing shops so my sister could -sigh- browse through some dresses. *yawn*
I spotted one of the most eye catching, beautiful pieces of art with a woman (women) as the subject I'd ever set eyes upon.
Its just so dynamic, such a stand out.

My sister then commented that someone once told her that in art, the less lines that are used to draw a woman, the more beautiful she becomes.

It then struck me, the beauty of this picture lies in her form, the lines that curve and line her body, her face, her silhouette.
Then there are the colours. Phowoar, look at that red dress, the red lips, her white gloves.



That painting had a price tag.
I made a mental note to purchase this painting. Irregardless of cost.



So much for urban decay, but I think what makes Mankind different from animals and other organisms is the way we express everything, life, emotions, experienes, thoughts, feelings - in art.



Current Mood: Content
Current Tunes: Michael Jackson - Billie Jean

@ 10:35 AM

You know how in every litter, crop or group, there's always the runt of the litter?


Well I found this little guy in the pack of organic dried chillis I was using for the Aglio e Olio.
He was the smallest, teeniest little thing I'd ever seen.



He's less than 1/8 the size of this standard sized match box.



Current Mood: Amused
Current Tunes: None.

@ 6:43 PM

Just a quick pop by to post my Friday lunch siesta!

I made an Aglio e Olio - that's basically country style Italian spaghetti with olive oil, chilli flakes and garlic.
For an additional flavour hit I've sprinkled some grated extra sharp aged parmesan cheese over the spaghetti.

I've been wanting to cook this for a long time, and I used the organic dried chillis my sister had left me when she was cooking her ravoli pasta in the Adelaide road trip.

It was delicious! I stole a bite or two from Mo and thought the flavours came out perfect.



For myself, I didn't feel like having pasta so I decided it was high time to thaw that basa fillet (a type of catfish) and make one of those mediterranean inspired fish dishes I'd always see on Rick Stein's Mediterranean.

I decided to pair it with a Salsa, which is a mix of diced tomatoes, onions sauteed with a touch of minced dried organic chillis and olive oil, lemon juice and coriander.
Mix well, add salt and pepper and refrigerate.



I steamed some green beans on the side and tossed with salt, pepper and lemon juice.
Needless to say, the fish came out beautifully!



I added some of the salsa over the top to steam with the fish to add flavour.



Anyway, gotta go!
Am planning to catch Transformers 2 in the theaters hopefully later tonight. :)
Ta!


Current Mood: Blah
Current Tunes: None.

@ 4:06 PM

Now, being a Singaporean (for the most part, I'd like to be proud of my nationality, the in and out's of my country's achievements, let downs and cultural innings, but once bitten, twice shy, I guess.), I love love love love the trinity of cuisines.

Of course, there are a whole slew of other cuisines I love and adore, but none more so than the fruits of my childhood.

The trinity of cuisines of every Singaporean, rich or poor - Chinese, Malay and Indian cuisine.
Yes, there is a very vague Eurasian "race" but seriously, if Eurasian is an official race what about the Chindians (Chinese + Indians), Malayese (Malay + Chinese), Inlays (Indians + Malays) and all the others in between?
By the way, aside from the popular Chindian term the rest was kinda' what I had to make up along the way.

Of course, as Mo put it very succinctly - (Singapore is a) Bastardization of everything good known to Man.

From our mutated strain of English - Singlish, a mixture of sounds, words and tones from the 3 main races of Singapore to our very crass colloquial mandarin any China local would die from heart palpitations upon hearing us brutalise their thousands of years of verbal heritage.

Then there's the food.

For example, till I met Mo, I never knew Curry Fish Head was some evil Chinese/Indian concoction. There isn't a dish called 'Curry fish head' per se in India.




There are a zillion dishes similar to curry fish head in India, of course, but just no curry fish head. I always got a kick out of digging the eyeballs out with a spoon and offering it to each and everyone at the table to watch them squirm or decline with a disgusted look on their face.


Then there's the fact that South Indian cuisine is vastly different from North Indian cuisine.

Then there's our Chinese food.
Now I'm very bad at cooking Chinese food because its a matter of well-timed precision cooking which I can't cover with a kabillion spices and 7692787 hours of cooking time (Indian cooking) or just sear until charred and season with 'salt and pepper' (Every western cooking technique known to Mankind that defines good food).

So, obviously, I can't name all the terrible things my Chinese brethren have done to Chinese food - be it Teochew, Hokkien, Cantonese, Szechuan or whatever else minority race I have left out.

I do know that having tried Malaysian food I still prefer Singaporean food because I don't like my food cooked in dark or sweet soy sauce (i.e. Malaysian Hokkien mee vs Singaporean Hokkien Mee .) Malaysian food tends to be unbearably sweet. I even prefer the Malay food in Singapore because its just a tad sweet and not diabetic.

No offense to the Malaysians, of course, but I find Singaporean food a little more refined than Malaysian food. That's obviously not to say Singaporean food is like the elixir of the Gods or some shit like that lah.
I've read and hear many a Malaysian practically throw every verbal insult at Singaporean food in the Malay, Chinese and Indian dictionary, so I think my statements aren't exactly at the height of controversy here.

I just prefer food more subtly seasoned and not too sugary. Salt, lucky for me, is a much more forgivable faux pas than sweet.

But Singapore obviously does suffer from many dodgy hawkers, that's for sure. So ask a Singaporean before you decide to try out SG food. (Just don't ask me. I've been busted by the food police eating in air conditioned food courts at the price of lousier food than sweating it out at an open air hawker centre one too many times.)

Sooo.
Despite the other cuisines available in Singapore other than the holy trinity of cuisines every Singaporean has grown up loving to eat, its always been more of a novelty than an actual interest to explore.
That's simply due to the exorbitant prices of one plate of fucking pasta or Spanish tapas than I can whip up quicker than taking a frickin' bus and paying 3/4 of my measly third world Singapore pay (unless I'm some rich man's daughter - which I'm not. Anymore.) to, to suffer bad food and severe constipation at a later date thanks to Mr. Cook not washing his hands or liking my face - or some shit like that.
Secondly, with the abundance and super cheap amounts of local food within walking distance to almost every housing estate (except your rich people, who live bunched up deep, deep in exclusive clusters far from the rest of the peasants), there's really little incentive to get out there and try out different cuisines except for perhaps, a once a week or fortnight affair where most people will get out and try something somewhat heavily localised but cheaper pseudo cuisines.

Living overseas has allowed me to actually explore other cuisines on a deeper level. I simply don't have the option to just pop out and grab a SG$2 plate of chicken rice (okay, fine, $2.50) and a SG$1 can of soft drink.
Its AU$8 for a bowl of noodles and the drink can be AU$3. Ouch.

So, obviously, I try out different cuisines to cook when I can't be arsed to marinate Hainanese Chicken Rice and walk out smelling like a garlic sewage plant. Not to mention its kind of hard to find certain ingredients in Australia, so I just drop by a Singapore/Malaysian restaurant or cafe once in a while to fill out those local cravings.

One cuisine I've been becoming very adept at cooking is Indian food.
I've been quite the butt of jokes in my family for eating too much of it. No prizes for guessing why. But really, I do love Indian food.
Where else in the developed world can you find roti pratas (or roti parathas) for SG$0.50 each? Comes with an unlimited serve of curry to dip your crispy pratas in.
Its a very popular breakfast food. Or after clubbing snack - where I hear boozed up groups drop by 24 hour eateries selling Indian and Malay food to chomp down on greasy and calorie laden cheese pratas and the traditional ones.

I'm a big fan of soups.
Now Mo, regrettably, doesn't fancy Chinese soups because of the pork soup scare a long time ago. Years ago, I made him eat a spoon full of noodles and soup and when trying to reassure him it didn't have pork in it, I called over the waitress to ask in front of him whether there's any pork in the food, expecting to hear a resounding no. She nodded and pointed out very helpfully that the entire soup was made from a pork bone base.



So, back to the Rasam.
I decided to make a 'pepper rasam'.
Since I don't make Rasam powder myself as its much too tedious to grind every damn thing by hand and sift them together, I got a store bought Rasam powder mix.

It begins with tempering of a couple of spices, including fenugreek, mustard seeds and curry leaves in some oil.
Then garlic, tamarind paste and the water from soaking the tamarind, followed by a little more water.
I added a bit more chopped garlic. I used lots of cracked black pepper, a small handful of lentils which had been pre-soaked earlier and a bit more raw minced garlic. I also added in some quality dried red chillis which my sister had bought earlier during her trip here for our Adelaide road trip (Pictures coming up soon!) to cook her prawn, chicken and mushroom ravoli and left for me to use.


I finished it with a good toss of hand plucked coriander. I find plucking it as opposed to cutting it with a scissors or knife imparts a stronger musk because I suppose the oils or whatever are stimulated from the rubbing motion of the hand.
I didn't want to give it a bone base simply because I didn't want to potentially destroy the soup.

I made a simple Aloo Bhaji.
I don't like the idea of boiling potatoes before covering them in a sauce or a flavoured oil or whatever, because being a potato veteran (more than a decade eating potatoes in virtually almost every form and cuisine - I love potatoes! )

So I fried the potatoes in mustard seeds and a little oil in a non-stick pan (or else it'd be swimming in oil) till its 3/4 cooked and slightly browned. Added onions, and the rest of the spices.
Then added a chopped tomato. It gives many Indian dishes depth and an almost meaty, silky quality and bulk to the dish. Its really the secret to many Indian dishes.
Ironically, tomatoes weren't even used in everyday Indian cuisine a long time ago till they were introduced from the New World together with potatoes and chillis. Surprise, huh?



I added some chopped baby beans to add to the vegetable content of the dish (potato only dishes can be very unhealthy because its just pure carbs, which isn't a bad thing but needs more nutrition since its the only vegetable dish on the table!), added water and reduced the liquid till everything had a slightly mushy quality to it.
Served with rice.

I had a bit of leftover butter chicken in the fridge which I had on the side with the vegetarian dishes.
I'm quite proud of cooking these dishes because I've sort of become much more familiar with Asian cooking. I know that transitioning to Chinese food will be much easier now that I've learnt to be more patient and thorough with my cooking.

In fact, I find it translates well into my work ethics too.
Here's a shot of my new work station.
I've moved houses twice in less than 2 months. Why? Well, that's for another post.



I'll leave you with a parting shot of Brandy in her new favourite spot.






Current Mood: Silly
Current Tunes: Soulja Boy - Kiss Me Thru The Phone

@ 3:11 PM

This is sort of an irrelevant, random post.

But then again, aren't I pretty random during the weirdest of times.

This Sunday was quite special.
For the first time in a long time, I was very satisfied just lounging around in front of the television on my cozy mocha couch alternating between watching G.I. Jane and watching random posters on YouTube play the little known Playstation 1 game, Clock Tower 2, on my laptop - which by the way - I seriously need to upgrade; not just my beat up old desktop.

Bonus was - Mo wasn't at home!
Not that I can't stand his presence or anything, but its good to have a little 'me' time now and then. Being together 24/7 can get a tad stifling, y'know, even if its with your best friend, treasured companion and hair-pulling competitive buddy.

Night dawned, he returned, and we descended upon our trusty snack pantry.


We've both been stuck on Cadbury's 'Desserts' Tiramisu flavour.
Its creamy, very chocolately with this hint of vanilla and not to mention its incredibly smooth on your tongue.



There was half left, thanks for Mo's devilish snacking habits. But plenty more to share between the both of us.
Now I know I should be feeling guilty sharing half a whole slab of chocolate but then again I've been toying around with the idea of getting back on the run track.

Few believe me (even my old lecturer when I told him, lol), but at my peak I actually had the discipline to get up at 6.30am in the morning, do a set of sit ups and warm ups, jog till 7 - 7.15am (yes. JOG.), come back, have the patience to slather moisturising cream all over my shoulders, arms, hands and legs after bathing, get back out and cycle the kilometres to school or work.

Then cycling back.
It saved me a ton of money and it made me feel so good.
The only side effect was that I used to get very, very ravenous in the middle of the day and dealing with that was a bit of a problem.

I want to get back to that routine.
Not only did it make me feel good about myself, it made me realise the stuff I'm made of and capable of doing when I put my mind to it.
It made me feel even better about myself to see the faces of friends and acquaintances - absolute disbelief.

Yes, I know I have a tendency to make people think I'm some sort of a lesser being, but the fruits of being underestimated by people are the looks of disbelief and utter shock on their faces when I succeed in something they never expected I would ever achieve. Ever.

Hrm. I've got to stop this habit of going off the rails.
So, what else?

Aside from chocolate, we paired it with - honeydew!



I love honeydew.
I always felt I never got chance enough to stuff my face full of honeydew.

Now that I'm living on my own and paying my own bills - well, I get to do whatever I want. Muahaha.
Simple pleasures such as binging on chocolate and evil, copious amounts of whatever I want without someone breathing down my neck or just waxing lyrical about how this is bad for you and that is bad for you.





Sorry.
I tend to get in these PMS-ey mood swings.
I've got to get stuff like this out of my system!

You know what would be nice? Dousing these slices of decadent melons with...honey! (That didn't come off sounding quite right.)

Right now, I'm trying to read up about system overclocking.

Trying to get more bang for my buck in this CPU of mine. It's served me well, but alas, there comes a time when its out with the old, in with the new - as with so many of the other aspects of my life.



Current Mood: Blah
Current Tunes: None.

@ 9:13 PM

I never really thought very much about it except the occasional cynical observation during some very blatantly obvious films to Mo, but many of the films we watch villify and stereotype bad guys as South American or Arab in origin, or looking.


This little film clip from The Age: The Guide Sunday makes you wonder about very effective propaganda placement which we hardly even notice in American films, or films in general.



I can imagine.
America isn't the only country (though they do it best. They make everything look good.) which uses film as propaganda machine for the masses.

I remember older Hong Kong movies with Bruce Lee and other lesser known stars who always portrayed the Chinese people as honest, humble and sometimes poor (women were always rich and very 'conservative' and patriotic, even if she had just a hanky to cover her bits), and the 'bad' people were Chinese who wore western clothing, kissed white ass and of course, the baddest of them all were the quintessential greasy, curly haired white guy who almost always a Jean Claude Van Damme look-alike.

He was always abusive to women, especially Chinese women, smoked cigars and wore white suits. Not to mention either he had some big white muscle guy who knew kung fu or some equivalent art to challenge the more superior Chinese kung fu or knew a few kung fu moves himself.

Many American films apparently are commissioned, funded or even supported by the U.S Defense Force, particularly ones which feature Arabs being blown up.

It makes you wonder, whether the perceptions you have of other races and cultures are truly opinions of your own or ones that have been cleverly infiltrated into by parties of interest.
From your liking to chocolate (every woman seems to swear by chocolate fixes, cravings and what nots nowadays) to thinking some particular brand is better than another.


Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Tunes: None.

@ 8:21 PM

After giving it a rather long go, I've come to see my vocation as a double edged sword.
On one hand, its pretty much centered around sitting in front of a computer surrounded by various technical equipment, so its not very laborious; although it does exhaust you mentally.
In a manner of speaking, unless you plan to run a full printing firm from your house (which would mean working in one for obvious reasons -$$.), it can be done from home, provided you have adequate resources.

On the other hand, if that's the case, it can mean you're stuck at home for long periods of time, days, at its worst, maybe a week?
This equates to: Sitting on a chair + staring at a screen + staying at home = paranoid, irritable, squinty grouch.

I've come to accept that this would probably be the end result for a little while after Uni ends until I find a stable, proper job.
But then, there are a whole other factors I consider very strongly as well - do I want to remain stagnant in a vocation which might not have too many rungs on the career ladder? Do I even want to work within the limited scope of my vocation forever?

Of course not! I want advancement in my career, and I want to be ever expanding it, not just bouncing within the 4 walls of what I see as a potentially limited vocation.
I don't want to stagnate - I'm young, unmarried, in the middle of my education phase, at the forefront of starting a career and I have ambitions just waiting for me to break through, grab and achieve!
So there's alot of mull over.


Peppered by the occasional welcomed flights over by my sister, who makes it quite known that she trades off 'expensive' (meaning flights which pay more because of its longer hours in the air) flights to drop by Melbourne. Aw.

So, what's a girl to do when regardless of whether she was in Uni or at home, she's stuck in front of a computer?


Coming to Melbourne, Australia, I understand the lifestyle is different - after all, what's the point of coming to a country to live when you can't adapt to their lifestyle and insist stubbornly on the one you're used to?



Anyway, with that in mind we had, a while back, decided to revisit the boathouse my sister brought us to long ago, back in 2003.
She knows many interesting and odd places, but most have slipped from memory into the recesses of vague imagery and one-syllable names like John, Jill and Jane.

It was pretty much almost the same with Mo and I.
We couldn't remember where it was, only a vague memory of going there and having the car's brakes fail on us on a steep slope. Bah.
There was another time my sister brought me there alone, but we took a bus, and retracing that route is obviously fucking crazy.

I did a bit of research on the net and found a boathouse.
It did look a fair bit like the place we visited years ago, and we were willing to give it a try.

I packed my lil' bag chock full of mind-numbing goodies just in case the trip turned to shit.



After a bit of driving, missing the place twice, we found that the boathouse was tucked very securely behind a mass of bumpy, well-worn one way tar roads, multiple layers of tress and shrubbery and seemingly decrepit buildings.

Very hidden indeed.



You had to park the car quite a while away and walk through a huge field framed by more trees and a few isolated, short little streets of row upon row of down slope 1970's houses.
Then there was more walking, down a meandering stepped slope of gravel and tar, not unlike the steps of rice paddies you see in rural agricultural coutries. You had to walk the entire way as the edges of each meandering path were flanked by a short, rudimentary wall of cobblestone bricks.




Depending on which side you arrive from, you pass by a bridge pipe which you can walk across. Its quite intimidating, so I didn't try to cross it.

Further more, if Mo fell into the murky river below I don't think my amateur swimming skills would be sufficient to help. I could probably dog paddle my way out if I tire of free style swimming. Dog paddling is just so instinctively brain dead it would be the default swim I would execute, I think.



I just love the serenity of the entire place.
Mild, very placid weather, a quiet, calm river, a little boathouse in the middle of it all.



The main steps down.



Pleasantly greeted by mallard ducks and farm white ducks alike, shaking their little feathered tails and waddling very clumsily towards us.



In the waters ahead, more ducks swimming toward the deck which serves as a boardwalk as well.



In an almost straight row, they waddle expectantly toward you. As an experienced duck/swan feeder, I almost feel sorry not having anything prepared for those greedy little buggers.



Later, we found out the boathouse sold crumbs as duck feed, but they weren't exactly cheap. So we thought we'd bring our own titbits for them the next time we visit.



They weren't too happy about that.



Indignantly, they waddle to the grassy banks of the river to groom and lick their sore little egos. Lol.


The entrance of the boathouse!
I love these very Victorian looking structures.
There's just so much character within the entire theme of this boathouse.



A shot from the side. The entrance picture from above can be walked to straight through those tables and chairs and up the rustic cobblestone steps.



A very idyllic row of boats.
The uniformity is incredibly pleasing to the eye.
I've always wondered why symmetry is so pleasant to look at, and so sought after by us humans. Is it the draw of potential perfection or just some freakishly biological element at play?



The bridge can be seen from the water's edge. Now you can see why I was hesitant to cross the damn bridge! The water's far below, God knows how deep, and the last time I fell into water without wanting to actually do so was back when I was 10 or 11, in the middle of a flooded one way street.
My friend and I - a crush, I might add - waded waist deep through the water to get back to our school campus (and no we weren't on a date we were just mucking around chatting and trying to lure baby chicks out of the gate of a house nearby to catch).
I was halfway talking to him and dropped straight into where a drain was - we couldn't see anything below our waists because the water was brown from soil and dirt.
I only got up when my foot found the bottom and used it to spring myself up to the surface. By then my pristine white uniform was completely soaked (and not damp from the rain) and he started teasing me about my exposed bra through the wet, white fabric - which I had been quite self-conscious about.

Not a very good impression to make on a crush. I was so embarrassed. Now its good for laughs, but that unwelcome drop was scary to say the least!



Bras and floods aside.
We came quite early in the morning, wanting to enjoy the crisp morning air and get the best boats/seats.
Again, the whole casual, rustic atmosphere was very beautiful.



Not to mention, a little uncover open garage with a vintage vehicle!
I wonder if its a working model.
You sometimes see these things on the street, or something similar, but they look quite ridiculous next to the sleek modern cars with glossy metallic finishes. However, I can understand that a slice of the non-conformist next to the ultra generic can make even the sanest person opt for potential ridicule than a conformist Mac crowd!
To be honest it did look like a working ute!



They really don't make things like they used to.
We're all so aching to get the newest, the shinest, the sleekest, that we happily toss aside individualism and quality in favour of vomit inducing fads!



Down the steps to another little area for kids!
I really love Victorian era items. They are so ornate, so character-filled. I spotted these old looking automated buggy rides and thought they fit in so well with the whole Vic era theme of the joint.
I can image little kids decked out in their formal Victorian era clothes having a ride on those things!
I just think clothes today are so bleh. I suppose in some manner I do prefer the orthodox Jewish view towards clothing - formal, regal and with dignity as opposed to throwing on a multi-dyed rag and calling it 'fashion'.
At the very least, at least wear something comfortable and decent!



The 'booking office.'



Boat hire rates sign.



I think its like $20 for half an hour or something to that effect. You get a choice of boats, canoes or kayaks.



I think the photo speaks for itself. The 'Bell' sign points to a very nondescript area of the counter where this tiny, bronze button sits besides an open book of paperwork and bookings.
It looks a little like a house bell you'd call the cook or maid with.



All manner of rustic equipment and furniture. It gives the entire place this feel like you're trapped in the Victorian era and above, decked in your modern clothing.
Come to think of it, life must have had been extremely, extremely boring back then. No television, no console games *gasp*, no internet *hurk*, no jazz, blues, pop, metal *keels over*, no COMPUTERS!!
What did they do then - especially the ladies of rich households?
Good thing they didn't have DNA tests then, I'd have bet 1 in 3 kids belonged to the neighbour.



For staff only door.


The area you move on to after paying for your rates. Choosing your boats and collecting your lifejackets.



The life jacket and oars room.



Mo and I chose one of these boats.
I thought it'd be better than paddling for our lives down a down stream river and then paddling back up for our lives in fear of some unknown waterfall far up ahead.



If I recall correctly, I've never sat in one of those boats before. The fisherman's boat. I've sat in a canoe before and we were so busy paddling I felt I didn't have enough time to admire the view.
Once we were in the boat, we sort of regretted it.



The well-used oar.


Easy as it looks on telly to row one of these boats - they are fucking hard to row.
Not only do you have to have the arms of a champion long distance stone thrower. Wait, let me correct that - boulder thrower.
Dragging those oars through the water felt like you were trying to use a blunt butter knife to cut open a fine wound.
The decorative detail on the boat did help to take some strain off. I just stared at the seat in front and rowed for my life.



Mo looking quite ridiculous in his life jacket. He looked a little nervous there because he decided to be a smart aleck and unhook the oar, dip in into the river as far down as he could and then came to this realisation that the river was pretty deep.
Then he almost lost grip on the oar. Smart boy.



The bridge from the river.
At this point some people had arrive and began crossing. I think its a bike path past that, but then again how do you get a bike through that bridge?



Lots of trees had their massive roots and trunks hanging just above the river surface. It made for some interesting shapes and shots.



The river up ahead.



More weird trunk formations.


The back of the 1970s houses I had mentioned earlier.
They have some pretty neat views and a free go at the river without paying, even a private jetty. Wow.



More plants. This one is a crawler plant hanging off a branch.



We kept crashing into the banks on the side because we couldn't control the boat. So we had to use the oars, which were incredibly heavy, to lever us back onto the river path.
Getting back was a half hour or so's hell.
Should've taken a canoe.



The ducks giving us a standing welcome.



We had worked up a good hunger by then, having not had breakfast.
We enter the cafe, where more trinkets and relics of the past hung.



While I loved the whole look, I can't imagine my house ever looking like this.



You're sort of bombarded with detail and imagery. By the time you get to the front of the queue you're like 'fuck this shit just gimme a martini shot'.



The menu. Typical Aussie menu. Cakes, sweets, chocolates, milkshakes, sodas and coffees.
Outside they had this new addition of an outdoor kitchen selling hotdogs and other street side snacks.



I had an iced coffee, Mo had a mocha.
We got an apple crumble to share as we thought we'd have this as a snack and have lunch elsewhere.



Honestly speaking, the iced coffee was a bit too rich and thick for me, so I had to get a side of cold water to wash everything else down.



The apple crumble was good. Not that great, but good. There were lots of unchewable flecks in there. I kept spitting them out and checking, worried for the life of me that they were insect body parts, but it turned out to be just a lazy cook's hand in the cooking process - they didn't peel the apples.
Nonetheless, it was okay fare.



The whole affair really ate away at the time. We had came quite early in the morning, around 9am, I think, and by the time we left it was already 3pm or so.



Ah, well.
It was a great experience. It wasn't the same boathouse my sister had brought me to but it was pretty close.
We'll get it right someday.


Current Mood: Sore
Current Tunes: None

@ 8:27 AM

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